


Each Minute Bursts in the Burning Room

by galfridian



Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: F/M, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galfridian/pseuds/galfridian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pieces fall together and apart; time moves forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each Minute Bursts in the Burning Room

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://weasleytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**weasleytook**](http://weasleytook.livejournal.com/) for your help. 

A man once wrote: _Time is the fire in which we burn._ Time is wild, unconquerable. Time is resolute. No one is more a master of one's fate than time. It marches you forward, leaving behind what you're careless with.

Even as a door is closing, slammed shut by pride or doubt, time is taking its spoils. You will look back, but it will be too late.

People dream of overcoming it, of slipping free from its bonds, however impossible it may be. Because if you could conquer time, it might be forced to offer what it never has: Forgiveness.

If you could conquer time, you might find something you lost.

Sheldon doesn't believe in regret. His future is too perfectly mapped, too easy to predict, for him to have anything to regret.

But regret, unlike time, waits. Regret is patient. It begins small, so inconsequential, and grows stronger with every moment it is ignored.

 **forward**  
The door to 4B slams closed. The sound echoes in the hallway, but no one hears it. In 4A, the door is locked, and Sheldon has retreated to his room - the farthest he can be from Penny without leaving his apartment. He locks his bedroom door for good measure.  
  
He sits on the edge of his bed, takes pains not to crumple the comforter, and tries to ease the tension from his body. Already, the muscles in his neck are tight. A dull ache develops around his temples.  
  
In this moment, Sheldon decides his friendship with Penny has run its course.  
  
  


 **backward**  
It's unpleasant to look at, this thing he's created. But then, he thinks, time itself is unpleasant to look at. Ugly.  
  
Sheldon examines the prototype. Twelve years of thought and toil and insomnia, all come down to a little box with a handcrafted laser. The laser stares back at him, as though waiting. He flips the switch on the side.  
  
The laser comes to life. At first nothing happens.  
  
Then comes a sound like a door slamming, so sudden and loud that Sheldon starts.  
  
He braces himself, finds his fingers gripping something soft, a blanket. For a moment, the world changes -  
  
  


 **forward**  
In the next moment, Sheldon's world seems to sway. His stomach lurches. He closes his eyes, covers them with his palms, but his room still rocks. Against his instincts, he lowers his hands, forces his eyes open. He moves to lie down but finds he's not on his bed, not in his room.  
  
He starts, falls backwards off an unfamiliar chair in an unfamiliar room, and -  
  
\- lands on his back in his bed. The world stops swaying. A note of panic strikes Sheldon's nerves but he rationalizes it must be stress trying to trick his mind. And then -  
  
  


 **backward**  
\- and then Sheldon's falling. As he's about to hit the floor, his world vanishes again.  
  
He lands on a bed. He sits up abruptly, his head spinning. Standing, he searches for some indication of the place - or the time - to which he's travelled.  
  
The realization of where - when - he is nearly causes him to collapse onto the bed. His mind reels, considering the possibilities. He considers his possessions, recalling years of acquisition.  
  
Then he knows. He knows what year it is. He knows what day it is. He crosses to his door. He reaches for the knob -  
  
  
  


 **forward**  
He falls. He hits his head against a hardwood floor as he lands. When he moves to rub the spot he's hit, he glimpses his hand and realizes - noting little scrapes and nicks he hasn't seen before - something is wrong.  
  
Looking around, he finds he's in a spacious but largely unfurnished apartment. A single armchair sits across from a TV, a few DVD cases scattered on a coffee table between them. Otherwise, he sees only bookshelves and white boards and an unremarkable kitchen.  
  
He doesn't know why he notices, why he cares when he realizes there are no pictures. "Leonard?" His voice echoes. He tries to stand up, but his legs give way.  
  
  


 **backward**  
\- for a moment, Sheldon's back in his apartment.  
  
Then he's in 4A, in 2011, unlocking his bedroom door. Sheldon crosses the living room, hit by a wave of nostalgia and regret at the sight of his home.  
  
Across the hallway, he comes to a stop. He stares at the door, at 4B, thinking of Penny on the other side. She's still furious, he guesses.  
  
He's losing all his determination. All the pieces are sliding together, after all these years, and he can't lift his hand and knock on her door.  
  
Finally, he knocks - three time, as always - and says, "Penny," three times, her name a whisper on the third.  
  
  


 **interlude**  
Penny has a volume of poetry gathering dust on a bookshelf - admittedly dusty itself - in an otherwise empty corner of her apartment. It was a gift from a teacher in junior high. She pulls it from its shelf only when TV can't distract her.  
  
Penny has some regrets. She's wasted a lot of things, she knows: opportunities, relationships, potential. She knows what it is to damn yourself, probably knows it better than any of her friends. Her favorite poem in this book is about regret and remembrance and time. She likes it because she thinks she understands the man who wrote it.  
  
She likes to think her teacher had this poem in mind when he gave it to her. Maybe this man, in his grown-up wisdom, saw the way she likes to charge through life without second thoughts and knew what these words would mean. Because, buried beneath all that regret and longing, there's hope. The best part of anyone, Penny thinks, is their capacity to hope.  
  
The day Sheldon moves, Penny turns down Leonard's offer of pizza. She trades his empty apartment for hers, where she reads the poem a dozen or so times, looking for something to hope for.  
  
 _What am I now that I was then?_  
 _May memory restore again and again_  
 _The smallest color of the smallest day:_  
 _Time is the school in which we learn,_  
 _Time is the fire in which we burn._  
  
  
 **forward**  
\- for a moment, Sheldon's back in his room in Pasadena. Then he's back on the floor of the empty apartment. He pulls himself to his feet. A more thorough perusal of the apartment reveals still a greater shock: an array of academic awards and recognitions, all bearing his name.  
  
He finds a cell phone on the kitchen counter, its battery almost dead. The date on the screen says January 7, 2025.  
  
The call history is blank. His text history shows a single message from his mother: "Christmas in Texas?" It appears unanswered.  
  
Sheldon finds Leonard's number, hesitates only a moment, and hits "send."  
  
  


 **backward**  
Penny opens the door. Any doubts Sheldon has vanish: Twelve years ago, he fought with Penny and decided he was better off without her.  
  
He's spent the years in between searching for the key to time travel, not realizing until now - until he's standing here, wanting to hug her - that she's been the reason all along.  
  
  


 **forward**  
Leonard answers after seven rings. He doesn't have much to say.  
  
It's Tuesday. Tuesdays, they go to the Cheesecake Factory.  
  
"Penny hasn't worked there for years, Sheldon. And you stopped going before that."  
  
Wolowitz and Koothrappali still work at CalTech, but Leonard says Sheldon hasn't seen them in years.  
  
"Where's Penny?"  
  
"Who knows? Hollywood, Paris, Madrid. Filming a movie. Divorce hearings in LA, maybe."  
  
"She made it," Sheldon says.  
  
"If you want to call it that," Leonard replies. A terrible silence follows. "Sheldon? Are you doing okay over there?"  
  
Sheldon hangs up.  
  
There's a knock at the door. As he opens the door, the room begins to spin.  
  


 **backward**  
"Well?" Penny's arms are crossed. She's stares him down like cattle at a rodeo.  
  
"Penny, you - I need - listen, you have to -" Penny arches an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn't move. Sheldon takes a breath. "In four years, you audition for the next series in the _Star Trek_ franchise. You get the lead."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Listen - when that happens, you'll know I'm telling the truth."  
  
"Which is what, exactly?"  
  
"I'm not your - I'm not the Sheldon you know. I'm from the future."  
  
Penny rolls her eyes. "Uh huh."  
  
"Please," Sheldon says. He feels this world - this day - slipping away. "January 7, 2025."  
  
  
  
coda  
 _Each minute bursts in the burning room,_  
 _The great globe reels in the solar fire,_  
 _Spinning the trivial and unique away._  
 _(How all things flash! How all things flare!)_  
  
"Sheldon?" He finds he's standing at her door, although he has no memory of walking there. "Hey, are you - "  
  
Sheldon turns on his heel and returns to his apartment, haunted by a feeling he's forgotten something.  
  
He wakes that night from a dream of travelling through time. Breathless and exhilarated, he begins the work which will consume more than a decade of his life. When those around him slip away, he doesn't notice.  
  
  
"Penny?" He finds her standing at his door, poised to knock. He has no memory of opening the door.  
  
"Sheldon," Penny says. He's missed the way she says his name.  
  
She leans against the door frame, arms folded against her chest. Waiting. Unmoving.  
  
She looks past him, staring into his apartment. He smiles, despite her hesitance.  
  
Already, a weight is lifting from his shoulders. His hand reaches for hers. "I'm sorry."  
  
Her hand finds his. "I know," she says. 


End file.
